


30 Days OTP Challenge

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel
Genre: Alpine - Freeform, Fluff and Humor, M/M, and JARVIS - Freeform, and Natasha - Freeform, because she's stabby, gratuitous use of swear words, just steve and tony dating and developing their relationship, while living in a tower full of idiots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:20:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22210201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Tony walks around generally mitigating all the disaster that rain down on him saying; “Yep, totally deserved that.”But this one, he 100%, from the bottom of his scraped out heart, believes he doesn’t.30 things to do, 1 OTP, 1 whole ass team = a slice of life
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 18
Kudos: 46





	1. Day 1: Hand Holding

Clinton Francis Barton is a prick.

Actually, he’s a full-fledged asshole. A dickwad. A twat, a shit-hea-

Well, you get the point. And please consider that point with all your kindness because Tony is suffering. Not any normal kind of suffering but the good-lord-what-the-fuck-have-i-done-to-deserve-this kind of suffering. Which is something to think about if it’s coming from the Tony Stark himself given on a count of 24/7, 365 days and 366 days on leap years, Tony walks around generally mitigating all the disaster that rain down on him saying; “Yep, totally deserved that.”

But this one –

“Fucking – shit _fuck_ – the hell!”

\- He 100%, from the bottom of his scraped out heart, believes he doesn’t.

Crying – Jesus, he’s fucking _crying!_ – Tony turns on his heels and bolts. “I’m gonna – I -,”

He’s going to fucking wreck Barton’s next generation, is what he wants to say, but dear fucking lord, he cannot fucking get that fucking out of his fucking chest – **_fuck_** _!_

“I hate you.” He manages, a gut wrenching sob rankling out of him. Pain is all that he feels at the moment. Intense, severe pain, with raging violence and it doesn’t. Stop- splitting his insides and more and “God,” now it’s crawling its way out.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Tony gulps down the whole carton of milk, feeling tears stream down his face. Somewhere nearby, Barton ass face is cackling like a witch head. Tony kicks out a leg in his direction – doesn’t really know why he did it because it just meets the air but the thud he hears later is a little satisfying, even if it’s very soon overcame by more bouts of obnoxious wheeze-laughter.

“Fuck you.” Tony spat in Barton’s general direction. Fucker’s fallen down the couch from laughing too hard. Gah! It even hurts to be angry. He rattles the fridge when the bottle of water refuses to come out – he’d go down with the fridge if it falls, god, he will. He doesn’t fucking – “Fucking- Water- Fuck!”

“What’s going on?” Steve’s voice comes through the calamity. Tony’s eyes seek him out habitually and he’s red, the entire room is red, Tony’s vision is red. Not angry red but pain red.

“Tony tried this.” Barton rolls over to uncap the bottle – Jesus, the thing looks like a poison bottle. Tony should’ve known. Tony _knew_ but – Stupid self-destructive mechanism.

“Don’t yo – hic!” Ah fuck, Tony sags desolately against the open fridge door. “Don’t!” He warns before another hiccup escapes him. Another.

And another. Shit.

Smart Steve eyes the bottle warily and chooses to walk towards Tony instead. Tony loves him a little more for that.

“Are you okay? Is he okay?” He asks the second half of the question to Barton, but Barton is too busy wiping tears out of his eyes to care. Tony burps and hiccups at the same time and lets the now empty bottle drop from his hold. “I’m dying. Dy – hic! – fuck.” He slams the fridge door, grabbing the tissue over its top and he blows his nose, disgustingly loud, all sense of self-preservation when it comes to his dignity flown out of the damned tower the moment he decided to taste that fucking hot sauce.

He sees Steve make a face and winces, but he cannot help it, he’s sure Steve’s definitely, _totally_ , never going to consider dating him now. Not that he thought Steve ever will, but if there was like a miracle or something to happen, Steve will recall this exact second when Tony blew out his snot and say no.

Already feeling extremely pathetic and still hurting beyond anything, Tony brings his hands to his face only to realise that he’s shivering.

“Jesus, Tony.” Steve says, stepping closer, clearly panicking now if he wasn’t before.

Genuinely terrified for his life, Tony grabs onto Steve’s shoulders, his grip sloppy and loose, sliding down until his shaky fingers are wrapped in Steve’s strong, steady ones. Tony almost tips forward into Steve because it hurts to breathe! Every breath feels like fire and Tony doesn’t want to breathe.

“Not again.” A bored voice comes from behind him and his usual reflex to jump and defend is _dead._ He focuses on the pressure around his hands, the cautious squeeze of Steve’s large hands around his own and he thinks about wills and dying words.

“Give this. It’ll help.”

Steve lets go of one of his hand and Tony whines. He opens his mouth for the scoop of rice, thoughtlessly, like a machine. All his thoughts, all his pain is focused on the inside.

“Is he okay?” He hears Steve asking.

Maybe he should tell Steve that he loves him. Had always – oh.

“Mmm, rice,” He moans in exhausted awe, refocusing on the grains mushed on his palette. He opens his mouth for more and happily accepts another spoonful that Steve feeds him. Oh, it burns. Oooh. It still pains but – “Helps.” He struggles to swallow.

“Yup.” The same bored voice hums and Tony recognizes it now.

“Tasha.”

“Uh, huh.” Soft hands pats his head then retracts immediately. “You’re sweating like a pig.” She says.

Tony lets Steve feed him more rice while holding his hand and thinks that if there’s indeed a light at the end of the tunnel, this, right here, is it for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i binge watched hot ones on youtube and this is a 'i love to meet you one day until then keep this' gift for Da Bomb


	2. Day 2: Cuddling Somewhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pining Steve

Steve counts to three before he inhales, then another three and he exhales and another three before he inhales, rinse and repeat.

His fingers are heavier than they were a few minutes ago and they itch to close the barest inch between shirt and naked skin. Tony’s olive toned nape is begging for Steve to trace the small freckle buried under his curls and his hair are even worse; short strands dancing to the lost draft, looking too soft and Steve is willing to bet the super serum running in his veins that they’ll feel silken smooth under his fingers.

Gosh, how he aches to sink his itching fingers into that pool of silk. But he can’t can he? He doesn’t possess that liberty of a partner, a lover, to touch Tony like that. Even if he wants to; he _burns_ to, just write his name next to Tony’s, print them and distribute like a flyer, shout out, to announce to the entire world – geez, he’s willing to drop his own surname to take on Tony’s in a blink of an eye. So willing that it’s embarrassing.

Just like he’s so willing to be Tony’s make shift pillow at the moment; just let him sprawl atop him, even if it was entirely by accident to begin with, Steve is more than happy to let Tony sleep on him. Lord knows the fella lacks the rest he needs. Plus, he feels right, his weight is like a comfort for Steve, like he’s right where he belongs; with Steve, and Steve is more than ready to carry him for the rest of their life.

He’s in love with Tony. Yes, that’s right.

He _is_ ; unabashedly but albeit secretively, very much in love with Tony.

And he’d really, _really_ like to hug him to his chest, run his fingers through Tony’s hair and keep his head pressed in the crook of his neck where Tony belongs.

And there’re more. Steve also wants to kiss Tony, he wants Tony to kiss him back, to touch Tony like no one else has – Steve’s well aware of Tony’s history, but no, he’s very sure that no one else had touched Tony like he wants to and can and yes, Steve would very much like that – to do that, to touch Tony and kiss Tony and love him – show him how love feels and selfishly, he too wants to feel Tony love him back, because where is the joy in doing all those if they’re not welcomed in the first place, right?

Right.

Which is precisely why Steve hadn’t said a word, hadn’t touched a strand of Tony’s hair because he is extremely confident that Tony wouldn’t want him to. At least, not like that. Not like how Steve wants him – and that’s, that’s _sad._

Steve takes a too deep inhale and loses the count. Panicking a little, he checks warily if that had interrupted Tony’s sleep, which would suck because Tony needs his sleep and Steve will hate himself for disrupting that. Tony shifts and Steve freezes, ready to pretend sleeping if Tony wakes up because only weirdos let someone nap on them while they’re awake. Weirdos and well, Steve.

But Tony simply snuggles closer, his head inching miraculously to where Steve’s fingers are and they touch and oh!

Steve’s very careful to time the next breath, forcing his racing heart to quit it as his eyes close on their own accord – gosh. It’s as exactly as how he’d imagined it’ll feel. Tony’s hair is silken soft, sinking like a pillow of softest of all soft things in the world – oh.

Steve shudders uncontrollably under the tendrils of wants twining around him. His control is one grain away from snapping clean and he struggles; fingers shaking as they try hard not to squeeze even as they press down on Tony’s scalp, his spine straight as a board against the sofa and internally he’s yelling at himself for being so stiff and that Tony will notice but he genuinely cannot help it.

Until –

Until Tony shifts again, a soft breathy sound, too close to Steve’s ear, caressing his skin and his nose – the tip of it, brushes oh so softly down the column of his throat and Steve almost – almost – moans, sinking heavily down the sofa with his entire weight and Tony’s too. Like a puddle of goo, _melted._

Sometime later, Steve’s barely got the hanging of his counts again when someone whispers, “Jesus Christ,” under their breath. He snaps his eyes shut abruptly, but it’s too abrupt that the person – Bucky, dammit – notices and with a light snort he scuffs the back of Steve’s head hard but not hard enough to jostle Tony awake. Steve glares at him but Bucky rolls his eyes, his gaze too knowing and he calls him a putty, to which Steve shrugs and agrees because as mentioned;

Steve Rogers is unabashedly, albeit secretively, very much in love with Tony.


	3. Day 3: Gaming/ Watching A Movie

“I don’t understand. We have a perfectly functional and more hygienic home cinema in the tower. Why are we going out of our ways to purchase tickets and watch a movie in the public cinema?” Clint grumbles under his breath. Natasha elbows his side while Tony jumps in before Steve can issue an apology and turn them all back around to the tower.

“It’s about experience, Barton. Not like your birdbrain can compute such intricate things in life -,”

“Hey!”

“What?” Tony shrugs, “You run mostly on greasy pizza and fizzy soda. You sleep in the vent and every time you wake up is when you fall out of them. You trip on your own feet and on flat ass pavement, I mean, need I say more?”

Clint’s pout is considerably moving, but the way he looks at Natasha to defend his ass is embarrassing. Tony laughs. Steve chides, “Tony.”

They get six tubs of popcorns; one for each and two for Steve because first, Steve can easily put them down and second, because Clint insisted they buy one in honour of Thor even though the Norse God is off the world at the moment. Then he tries to trick Tony into paying for it and they start bickering again so Bruce pitched in.

When they walk in, the hall is already dimmed out and all of them ducked and hunched as they hurried to their assigned row. Tony lets Steve go in before he follows and only once he’s seated does he realise with a sinking feeling in his stomach that he’s going to be seated next to his crush for two whole hours in a dark hall where the only source of light is the screen in front of them. Well, shit.

“Can you hold this?” Steve asks, holding out one of the tubs and Tony feels the insane urge to fling it at Clint’s head even as he calmly takes it. The seat next to his is empty so he balances two tubs of popcorns on it and pretends to not notice how Steve’s struggling to squeeze himself into a normal-human-sized seat. Which lasts for about half a minute before Tony clears his throat and extends an offer, “Wanna switch?”

Steve looks over to see the tubs-seated on an otherwise empty seat to Tony’s right side and says, “Please.”

They switch. Now, Tony’s seated in between Bruce and Steve and he thinks he feels mildly better, or maybe that’s just psychological. Either way, the movie begins, Clint shushes loudly, Tony gives in and flings a kernel over Bruce’s head at him and sinks into his chair happily.

Not even five minutes in, Tony surreptitiously glances over to his right, the profile of Steve’s face more captivating that whatever the hell he’d decided to drag them to. Before he can get too lost in admiring the curves of Steve’s lips when the light from the screen flashes, Tony pulls himself back together and turns back to the movie.

A couple minutes after, he gives in and looks over again, under the pretence of just conveniently checking out where the crunches are coming from; _Ah Steve, you’ve started on the popcorn. You know, just observing._ When really, it’s just an excuse to look at Steve, because why not?

Tony would rather spend an entire day staring at Steve, memorising every curve and sharpness that makes up his feature and if he’s welcomed, he’ll gladly trace them; painfully slow. Just take all the time he has in this lifetime to feel Steve’s skin under his fingers, how deep they dip where they do and how they transcend from smoothness to coarse and hairy - he wants to know every single thing about it.

He wants to compare and see how different is the texture of Steve’s hair on his head to those on his chest, arms, legs and –

He wants to capture how the light reflects off of their blondness differently and he wants to watch – god, that is, if he’s allowed. _If_ –

He wants to see how many ways can he make Steve’s lips part just the way they do right now because – Jesus.

Tony shudders. Steve’s focus shifts onto him; big blue eyes blinking curiously and Tony shakes his head to his unasked; _You alright?_ In response, Steve holds out the tub of popcorn on his lap; _Want some?_

Tony vaguely remembers his own tub as he dips a hand into Steve’s, fishing out a handful and stuffing the exact amount into his mouth. He watches Steve shifts closer to Tony and he hums appreciatively, forcing his eyes back onto the screen when who knows the fuck who is doing the fuck what.

He peeks every time he goes for the popcorn. Sometimes their eyes meet and when Steve smiles that shy smile of his, Tony’s heart will melt and he’ll forget all about everything until he looks over again, waiting for Steve to look back, like some kind of illicit game just between them.

One time, Tony puts his hand into the quickly bottoming popcorn tub and collides with Steve’s warm one making its way out. Steve looks at him then, as wide eyed as Tony is and he blushes a delicious shade of rosy pink which makes Tony’s face warms up too and he ducks his head laughing, as does Steve. Something hits the back of his head but Tony’s too gone in that private moment he’s sharing with Steve that he cannot give a fuck to that.

Then it happens again.

And again.

At the fourth time, Tony takes a huge breath in, feeling warm and fuzy – all his insecurities about how Steve will never ever consider dating him gone with the light and right then, as he sits in the dark of the public cinema hall surrounded by friends and more strangers, watching a god awful movie, his head swimming with all those shy smiles Steve gave him and the way he blushes every time their hands get caught in the popcorn tub together, a wild surge of blunt courage courses through his veins and he grabs Steve’s popcorn-sticky hand in his own popcorn-sticky hand and doesn’t let go.

Ten seconds pass, where he valiantly ignores the itch to look at Steve, keeping his eyes burning a hole at the movie screen while Steve’s hand in his is uncomfortably crammed inside a fucking popcorn tub. Even when the sharp edge of the paper catches on the inside of his wrist, he stubbornly keeps on.

Until, well, until Steve takes them out, and puts them over his lap, yanking Tony closer in the process. The popcorn tub goes down, spilling the last three kernels onto the floor and Tony looks at them guiltily before looking up to meet Steve’s too blue eyes. He smiles, tight like he’s unsure, and his entire face is red when the pale blue light spills from the movie screen.

But Tony’s hand is secure in his grip, on his lap, like he wants it there and is willing to fight if Tony pulls back and for Tony, right then, it’s all that matters.

When the movie ends and the hall-light comes one, they let go of each other’s hand but not before Clint notices. His heart is still racing and he’s trying hard to calm down while Steve ducks his head like a bashful girl.

“Final – fucking – ly!” Clint throws his hands up. Natasha snorts and Bruce jolts awake with a, “Whu -What did I miss?”

As they fill out, Steve takes his hand back, tucks them both into his jacket pocket and doesn’t let go all the way home.


	4. Day 4: Date

There was a time when Tony remembered things. Things like the time of the day, the date and the last time he’d eaten and showered. Right now though, his mind is a swamp of all things but miscellaneous.

The smell of burnt metal had sunk into his pore and become one with him. Which means, “Urgh.”

A light chuckle issues from somewhere within the four walls he’d trapped himself in and Tony straightens up, suddenly alert. His eyes scan around the wide area, for a while seeing nothing but wires and furniture and projects and projects and _-._

“Steve!” He exclaims in delight, face helplessly splitting into a too wide grin. His skin tingles upon spotting the small bundle of perfection curled up in his favourite piece of furniture of all time; like a little cocoon of heaven carved especially for Tony because that is _all_ he needs after his head finally stopped spinning with problems.

A soft purr satisfaction rumble in his chest as he rolls himself all the way across the work station to where his heaven’s situated, “Hey, Tony,” Steve greets when the chair comes to an end at the foot of the couch. He looks soft and warm, all wrapped up in Tony’s cosiest blanket which he keeps draped over the couch and he’s curled up with his sketchbook, pages open to a work in progress.

Tony stretches and pops his stiff joints with little happy sighs while Steve observes with a fond smile. “Finally came to Earth?” He asks once Tony’s done and Tony pokes his tongue at him impishly. His stomach rumbles then, betraying his mundanity and while Tony glares at it in disdain, Steve chuckles and holds up a plate of saran wrapped sandwich in his sight. “Eat,” he says while Dum-E rolls up, helpfully presenting a bottle of water.

Tony says his thank you to both of them and starts digging in. Halfway through his meal, he realizes that Steve’s staring and guiltily offers a bite to which Steve shakes his head, no, then keeps on staring until Tony’s nape prickles and he puts down the empty plate, starting on Steve with a full mouth, “Whu?”

Steve colours high on his cheeks and the tip of his ears, shaking his head as he ducks and laughs nervously. Tony takes him in and wishes he’s bestowed with the liberty to lean in and kiss Steve on the nose.

On the mouth, along his neck, down his chest, and – well, you get the gist.

Harrumphing, he gives a slight kick to Steve’s curled up legs and makes a face. “What?” He asks again after swallowing. When Steve looks up, he’s properly blushing, neck flushed red and he scratches the back of his head and says, “Nothing,” and then, “I should go.”

“Why?” Tony asks with a poorly suppressed whine. He’d just pulled out the zone and now Steve’s leaving? Already?

“Well…,” Steve trails off before pulling a breath and looking Tony straight in the eyes as if he’s trying hard not to burst a vein. “If I don’t go now, then I won’t make it for our date tonight,” He says softly. Too soft that Tony gulps the shock and replies with a dumb “Whu?” 

Steve blinks, blue eyes searching and he looks like he’s panicking. Tony feels like he’s going to faint himself; two second away from smashing his face on the coffee table. His heart is racing, pulses jumping and he’s feeling uncomfortable hot. Throat dry and all.

“Our date.” Steve says faintly.

Tony swallows painfully, “Oh.” _The fuck?_ “Right, of course.” _What the actual fuck?_ “Our date. Which is at…,” He drags, hoping Steve will fill in but Steve doesn’t so he ends with, “Tonight. Clearly.” He huffs a nervous laughter. _Play cool, play cool –_ Jesus.

“Chop, chop.” Tony chases him when Steve starts squinting suspiciously at him. “Hurry up and dress pretty. I like my date looking pretty.” He babbles, pushing Steve to the exit as his ears ring in panic. Steve blinks like a deer in the headlight; wide and adorable but wide – panic, wide. Tony winces. “Or just come like this, your wish. I like you anyway. That’s why we’re going on a date!” He finishes ceremoniously, hands thrown wide apart like ‘tada’ and he waves at Steve opening and closing his mouth like a gold fish on the other side of the glass door.

Dammit.

“Jarvis, pull up the shop’s footage from when Steve entered.” He orders between clenched teeth, grinning and waving as Steve boards the elevator and once their door closes, Tony’s grabbing for his hair and yanking. “Did I ask Steve out?”

“Yes, sir. At precisely five past four this evening.” JARVIS replies with a subtle peppiness to his tone which Tony squints at but ignores for the footage of himself sitting ram rod straight in the middle of the workshop surrounded by a sea of holo-screen and there’s Steve walking up to him with a plate of sandwich.

“Volume up, please,” Tony murmurs distractedly, zooming in to the two men on the screen. He watches unblinkingly and listens carefully to every word spoken; the usual reprimands for keeping long hours from Steve and Tony’s witty replies even in his zone-out stage – which is frankly, impressive, he knows, he’s been told before too.

Then the bickering leads to mild flirting until it isn’t mild anymore because Tony says something about; “Yeah sure, like you’d date me,” to Steve who not only looks offended but recovers quickly to retort a haughty, “Why wouldn’t I?”

To which then Tony says, “Seven o’clock today works for you, Cap?”

“Only if it’s Italian,” Steve smirks and Tony – Jesus Christ – leans so close into Steve’s space that on screen it looks very much like they’re kissing - which is no way, because Tony would remember such if something like that happened right? Like, come on! His life’s dream is to be with Steve and if he fucking forgets something so crucial like kissing Steve, he’s about to set himself on fire and send his arse straight to hell – and says something too soft to be registered by the system. And Steve appears to ask him something, again, too soft and Tony yanks hard at his hair in the present.

For a long time, he’s frozen. The footage plays until it stops and Tony’s looking at himself looking at the footage on the screen. It’s JARVIS who interrupts his state, clearing throat like a through gentle-AI, “Sir, may I take the liberty to remind you that you have date with Captain Rogers in exactly thirty minutes from now.”

“Oh fuck.” Tony expresses faintly, feeling extremely light headed as disbelief clouds every single section in his brain. But, in for a penny and all that right?

Right.

“I have a date.” He stands up. “With Steve.”

“Indeed, sir.”

Then louder and clearer, he repeats, shaking off the disbelief. “I have a date with Steve Rogers.”

“In 29 minutes -,”

“JARVIS!”

“Glad to be of service sir.”


	5. Day 5: Kissing

A quick shower and a brief meltdown in the closet after, Tony’s about as ready as he can be to a date he doesn’t remember asking but has every bit dreamed of. To make things worse, Steve looks utterly delectable.

“Hey,” He says, as if he’s not melting Tony on his feet looking like he does in a form fitting navy dress shirt. He got a blazer on his arm and a nervous look in his baby blue eyes, “Not sure if I need a jacket or not.”

Tony wants to whip him back upstairs, straight to his bedroom and strip him naked. _You don’t need anything,_ “You’re perfect.”

Steve blushes and Tony inhales sharply, making sure that he’s still grounded and not up in the air, floating.

Tony takes Steve to that one place he’d never taken anyone to before; the one place that exists in his memories only because it’s where Maria used to take him to when Tony does well in his exams.

It’s stuffy, there is way too many tables in a too small space but never is it ever crowded. The walls are decorated with tasteless vintage photos and art pieces. The entire place is run by a pair of too old Italian couple; the husband runs the kitchen whilst the wife takes care of the customers and neither of them speaks English. Tony absolutely adores it.

Steve’s taken aback the moment he enters the place, but Tony reminds himself that if anyone can see the beauty of this place and appreciate it as much as he does, it’s Steve.

It’s why he decided to bring him here. It was as clear as the day the minute he asked himself; _fuck, where do I take him_ – and Tony had just known. 

And he was right. Two minutes after, Steve is glowing with the light of discovery, gushing, “I love this place,” and Tony hasn’t even showed him the best part yet. He waits until he’d placed their orders, tongue rolling smoothly in fluent Italian as he kisses Elena and asks for permission while Steve observes with an unfamiliar intensity in his eyes.

Manuel usually takes some time to whip up the orders. Although Tony had asked Elena a favour and reserved the entire place for only them, it still isn’t going to make Manuel any quicker on his old bones and creaky joints. So he stands up and offers a hand, palm side up, to Steve who takes it with an interest and follows as Tony wordlessly leads him behind the counter and up an immediate staircase hidden in the corner.

It’s a spiral iron staircase that is too narrow for even a perfectly standard sized male body like Tony’s. But Elena is petite and Tony knows for a fact that she still uses it because she had just said so. Confidently, albeit a little anxious because he can’t help it – he’s on a date with Steve! – Tony pushes open the old wooden door and steps out into the rooftop of the three storey building.

The evening breeze is pleasantly cool for a summer evening and Steve’s hand in his is deliciously warm in contrast. Tony closes his eyes for a brief second and relishes it before he turns to regard Steve.

Steve’s looking at him and only him; singularly focused, uncaring of the bright orange night sun that’s too stubborn to slip past the horizon or the cooing birds in the distant. Uncaring that even by Tony’s standard, this is the most beautiful roof top scenery he’d ever seen in his entire life – with potted plants and their blossoming flowers surrounding them - and right then, Tony feels incredibly privileged to feel the heat of Steve’s gaze on his face.

He wonders what Steve sees though, as he squeezes his hand in his. His own eyes dart all over Steve’s handsome face, searching, and he decides he’ll just ask him. But the moment he parts his lips, words ready on the tip of his tongue, Steve decides to speak.

“You’re stunning.” He says, stepping closer. Tony holds his place and lets Steve curl a hand around his neck, thumb pressing gently over his pulse point, caressing. “I could paint you like this” he murmurs, letting go of Tony’s hand to trace a curve over Tony’s ear and back before he fits the heel of his palm under Tony’s jaw, gently nudging Tony’s chin up and when he steps in impossibly close; both of their breaths intermingling; hot and heady, their foreheads touch.

“Tell me I can kiss you?” Steve’s breath brushes over Tony’s lips, his mouth barely an inch away from slotting perfectly with Tony’s and it aches to wait, hurts to even breathe out a ‘yes’ but Tony manages. Daze as he fascinates himself with the curl of Steve’s fair lashes and the ridiculously gorgeous golden way they glow under the sun.

He can point the precise second – down to millisecond - when Steve’s lips meet his. He knows he’ll remember it by the way his heart stutters and jump circuits, and the exact pressure, in mmhg, with which Steve’s fingers press into his skin and pulls him closer. The exact temperature and the direction of the wind; Tony knows.

He knows, but all those details blur out in the back of his head like a swirl of paint dropped into a jar of water. They’re present, but insignificant to the greater details of how Steve feels against him, _his_ body temperature, the hitch in _his_ breath, the way he kisses – him, him and all _him._ Nothing else.

Tony drowns, willingly helpless, into Steve and Steve, he drinks him in.

The sun is red when they finally resurface and realise that there are things more interesting around them and only each other. But still, Tony thinks Steve’s the most of them; the most interesting, the most brilliant, and all.

It’s that giddy love-stupid brain of him, fuelled by all those happy hormones yada, yada - he knows. But he doesn’t care as he intertwines Steve fingers with his and giggles. He’s been in enough relationships to know that this high will fade in time, but right this second, he’s happy and is unapologetic about it, because it’s Steve and Steve likes him enough to go on a date with. To kiss him, and well, Tony’s over the moon.

He hasn’t even shown Steve Maria’s favourite blossom before Elena’s curious head pops out. Reluctantly, he leads Steve back downstairs for their dinner, marvelling how for the first time in forever, Manuel’s faster than him. He tells Steve that; about Manuel and Elena and about those potted plants and one of them which Maria loves the most. He tells him about Maria and Steve takes his hand, asks Tony if they can come back again. 

“Next year, same place, same time.” Tony jokes, but not really. Eyes anxiously searching for Steve’s and relief floods in when Steve smiles in that mischievous way he does when he’s up for the challenge and is bloody sure he is going to win it.

Love-high fades, Tony knows. But the love itself, that he feels for Steve? That is staying because it’s stayed for years now and it hasn’t gone anywhere. He knows Steve like the back of his hand, knows him and loves him with all of his heart, so with utmost confidence, he says; “It’s a date.”


	6. Day 6: Wearing Each Other's Clothes

They fight. Not like the usual heated arguments between them but a full blown fight with raised voices and Steve storming out of the workshop and not returning even after a day.

He’s mad. Judging by the lack of Tony’s effort to seek him out, Tony is too.

Steve wants to say it’s a clash of opinion. But their opinions have clashed numerous times before and deep inside he knows the truth which he’s only evading because it’s easier to pretend they’re all emotionally as mature as the public likes to think; steel wall, unaffected etcetera.

Truth is, their last mission went pear shaped and caused a string of collateral damages that broke the meter of casualty they could deal with as a team for the year and none of them are alright. The air in the tower was still heavy with grief when Steve had tried to lighten up Tony’s mood by bringing up a random topic to chat on. But everything else reined in and the balloon blew so spectacularly that they’re both still reeling from what they’d said to each other.

Steve had called Tony unprofessional and Tony had called him pretentious in return; because Steve said _, “We can’t let this affect us so much. We have to move on. We’re the Avengers.”_

 _“Well FYI Steve, we’re also human – oh wait. I’m sorry,_ some _of us are human and some of us aren’t.”_

Steve had bristled. _“That’s not why – This is not only about being human but about being those who others look up to, we have responsibilities and mooning around when we should be restoring their hopes is a little… unprofessional.”_

Tony rounded up on him, seething, _“What? Be more like you? Is that it? A pretentious hero? Cause that’s what you are right now.”_

And that had hurt. _There’s no need for you to call me that,_ was on the very tip of Steve’s tongue but Tony didn’t look like he was going to listen to anything anyone has to say right then. He looked defensive, ready to fight and Steve was, tired. Exhaustion gripped and twisted his insides and Tony was pouring acid so he turned and left.

Then, there was a call for a recon mission for Natasha and him and Tony was still on blackout mode so Steve had left without a goodbye because he couldn’t spend another round busting his knuckles of Tony’s super-strength proofed glass door.

Steve didn’t even compute half of the things he did during the last three days he was incognito. Natasha was less chatty than usual, her hits less uncontrolled in strength with impeccable precision as if she had been holding back all those other times she’d been on the field. Steve relied primarily on muscle memories and direct orders and for the first time, Maria was yelling up their throats because they were reckless.

It was quiet, bloodier and quick.

Now, Steve’s hugging himself in the back of the Quinjet sulking because Tony is right, while Natasha quietly focused on piloting them back home.

But god, Steve missed him, missed him real sore like someone had bruised his ribs badly and he wants nothing more than to hold Tony right then. But Tony’s not here, he’s back home being mad and Steve doesn’t care if he’s the first one to apologize, he will, because this madness isn’t worth it.

He rather his pride hurt than be like this with Tony.

He wishes their ETA is shorter. He wishes the Quinjet is faster. He knows what he’s going to do the minute they land; ask JARVIS where Tony is and go straight there. No pit stops, all he wants to do is beg Tony to let him in and hug him until this odd heaviness in his stomach fades. Then he’s going to convince Tony to come to be and cuddle with him to sleep. Yes, that’s what he’s going to do when they reach home.

But home is three hours away still and right now the heaviness burns like an ulcer, a feeling that Steve remembers from when he was fifteen and spent every day trying to not drop dead. So he stands up, the insane yearning within him leading by instinct to where the team stores their extra clothes and other necessities for emergencies.

Pulling the storage container out and open, he searches for the sleek black bag that he knows is Tony’s and pulls it out. The moment he opens the bag, Tony’s distinct scent invades his airway and Steve tries not to sob, or sniff closer like a creep. It’s incredibly easy to fish out a warm oversized MIT sweater among the small pile of clothes Tony keeps inside and pull over his undershirt. It’s even easier to dip his chin down, pull up the collar and bury his nose in the fabric.

When Natasha gives him a look from the cockpit, Steve ignores her and curls up in his seat, feeling significantly better with each deep inhale.

Each passing minute feels inconspicuous after that, Tony’s scent enveloping him like a secure blanket and Steve lets himself drift asleep until JARVIS announces the ETA is thirty minutes, which then Steve spends fidgeting nervously, worrying what if Tony wants to break up with him – because that’s a thing Steve hasn’t even considered and he realised that it’s completely possible – and that ulcer-burning is back to haunt his insides again. Then he realises that besides dating, neither Tony nor him have explicitly discussed their relationship status and – well – huh. That is - that makes Steve feel ridiculously stressed out that not even slinking further into Tony’s sweater quells that.

Natasha gives a squeeze to his arm before she walks away. Steve attempts to evaluate the state of his mind for barely a minute at the tarmac before deciding ‘fuck it’ and heading to the workshop. Halfway in the elevator ride, he realises that he’d completely missed the first step which was to ask JARVIS where Tony was at. He pushes the surging panic and opens his mouth but the elevator door is already opening, revealing a quiet workshop; none of that cacophony of holo-screen with their bright blue lights dancing around and Steve feels his heart plummet.

“JARVIS, where is Tony?”

“Sir is in the workshop, Captain Rogers.”

Frowning and eyes frantically searching, Steve murmurs, “Where?”

“Sir is in his cot, Captain.”

“Oh,” Then, “Can I go in?” He almost pleads.

The glass door whooshes open in answer and Steve says his thanks to JARVIS, stepping inside.

Tony is indeed in his cot. With both hands tucked under a soft pillow on a sofa bed, he’s asleep on his side, and Steve just wants to pull the blanket and tuck himself neatly along the curves of Tony’s back.

He considers doing just that but loses himself at the sight of Tony; with a blanket strewn over his legs stopping just below his waist, looking warm and incredulously soft and Steve marvels, thanking high heavens for being able to just lean in and caress his sleep-soft cheek and run fingers through his sleep-soft hair. He’s leaning in to press a kiss over Tony’s forehead when he notices it.

The hoodie zipped up to Tony’s neck is not, Tony’s. He knows that because it’s, well, he left it on the front couch the last time he was in the workshop and Tony must have –

Steve gulps.

Tony’s wearing a t-shirt under that hoodie; black with a little hole at the collar. It’s washed out and it’s what Steve likes to wear religiously even if it earns him dirty eyes from Natasha because there’s something about the way its material clings to his skin screams comfort.

And Tony’s wearing that exact t-shirt under his hoodie. _With_ his hoodie.

His next breath is a little harsh and loud and it jostles Tony from his sleep. “Steve?”

“Hey.” Steve says, breathless.

Tony blinks, “Hi.”

“Scoot over?” Tony complies, and Steve pulls the blanket over his own legs before pulling Tony over his chest.

Tony’s tense for a second, before he goes soft and pliant like all of him had just melted over and Steve holds him tighter, breathing him in with long deep inhales. “I missed you.” He confesses hoarsely, heart racing wildly while he clutches to Tony like a lifeline and Tony hugs him back just as tightly.

“Is that why you’re wearing my sweater?”

Steve snorts. “I notice you stole my hoodie and shirt.”

“Hmm.” Tony squirms, his nose wrinkling a little like it does when he’s nervous.

Steve kisses his head and asks, “What?”

“Think I stole your whole wardrobe.” Tony fesses huffily, a little defensive.

Steve sits up a little to see the beginning of his favourite sweatpants, loose on Tony’s hips and what deceptively looks like a sliver of his old boxer short. He doesn’t want to assume so hooks a thumb down the waistband of the sweatpants and he asks, “Is that -,”

“Your boxer? Yes.” Tony exhales hotly against his neck, squirming some more and oh.

Steve sees what he means by the entire wardrobe and well, he’s not mad, not at all. Especially when he feels the long hard line of Tony’s arousal pressing up his stomach, he throws a possessive leg over his fella, rolls the over and whispers heatedly into Tony’s mouth, “Good. I like that.”


	7. Day 7: Cosplaying

Tony likes to say it’s Clint’s fault even if technically it was Bucky who asked what ‘Cosplay’ was and proceeded to look with wide eyed interest at the images Tony pulled out from online.

Thus, it’s Clint’s fault.

It’s Clint’s fault that Steve asks Tony about cosplaying later that night and it’s Clint’s fault that Steve comes back from his run the next morning and suggests they have a Cosplay themed party for his approaching Birthday this weekend.

Tony spits his coffee out. Steve looks offended so Tony chews and minces his word before he decides that nothing he says in that moment is ever going to save him so he shuts his mouth and glares at Clint’s shaking shoulder behind the couch.

Later, he corners Steve in the bedroom and asks in privacy, “Are you sure about the – um – cosplaying? I’m not judging, just to be clear. I’ve done worse.” He holds up his hands, erect.

Steve wipes his wet hair and sighs, “I’ve never seen him so interested.”

And that’s when it clicks for Tony. Of course this is about Bucky and if this is about Bucky, then this is surely about that one single fucking -, “Bastard Barton.”

Because Bucky and Clint have been hanging out like some weird interconnected limbs lately and by the way Clint bursts out laughing every time he sees Steve is suspicious enough. So Tony does the one thing he’d be refraining himself from doing. He switches the coffee in the communal kitchen with decaffeinated beans; it’s only Clint who drinks it religiously from there so that’s fine. Although sometimes Steve does a cup or two and Tony feels bad about it, it was the only reason why he never switched before but things have come to head and Tony has snapped.

That still doesn’t stop the Cosplay themed Captain America’s Birthday Party from happening. Thank god it’s only family and friends because Tony couldn’t live with himself if public saw him in his Batman costume and a fucking cape at forty three. Steve looks delicious in a Superman outfit and they go hand in hand to where the party takes place; the communal floor.

Besides the team, Pepper, Rhodey, Fury and Maria’s invited. Fury looks bored in his usual black, floor sweeping coat and when Tony confronts him about the party rule, he rolls his eyes, pulled out a shoulder length wig from somewhere under the coat and declares himself, “ - the black Severus Snape.”

Fair enough.

Maria’s Wonder Woman and Natasha’s Harley Quinn. Pepper is stunning in her Cat Woman costume. Tony checks them all out surreptitiously. At least he thought he’s subtle until Steve clears his throat pointedly. Tony leers and leans in to kiss him, but Steve nudges his side and tilts his head to the right.

Black cloak sweeping the kitchen floor, carrying a long stick with a duck taped curved blade at its end, Bucky Barnes struts around hauntingly with a short white sheeted – poorly cosplayed – ghost in his arm.

“Jesus Christ.” Tony cusses under his breath. “Tell me that’s not Barton.”

But it is. It can only be Clint because Bruce is in an embarrassing neon green tights with Rhodey and Thor on the couch. And every time that black cloak flicks, there’s that metal glinting under the dimmed lights which means the Grim Reaper is Bucky and that ill-fitted ghost – that - that is Clint! – Tony swears to god –

“Cute.” Steve chuckles next to him.

Tony reels back in and stares at him. “You’re kidding me.” He hisses. But Steve rolls his eyes fondly and kisses Tony on the cheek. “They _are_ cute.” He says again, muffling Tony’s snipe with a kiss to his mouth.

Tony glares at the white sheeted Clint, narrowed eyes following the couple as they strut their way out of the kitchen to the couch where the rest of the guests are; Bruce whipping out a HULK fist – ah, he’s hulk – and Rhodey’s in his full bodied armour and wig playing Aragorn – typical. Thor is, well, Thor. “I am a Norse God, my friends,” he cheers with his Thor-sized beer glass and Tony heaves a heavy sigh because this is looking more like a college Halloween party more and more.

But the look on Steve’s face is pure glee and it’s his birthday today. Tony cannot deny him anything to begin with and this stupid thing is clearly making him so happy. So he ignores the deep seated shame he feels for playing dress up at this age and leans closer to him, kissing his cheek. They are all old – Fury is ancient even – and they are all playing dress-up with him for Steve. Somehow, that makes the shame fell thousand times better.

His gaze flits back to where Bucky Barnes and Clint are seated close in an odd blur of black and white in one corner of the couch and he has to admit, they do look adorable.

Doesn’t mean he’s switching out the decaffeinated beans though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> introducing background winterhawk


	8. Day 8: Shopping

Steve balances the tray with one hand and tries to pet DUM-E with the other. He loves the bot and he wholeheartedly believes it loves him too. Even Tony had once looked at it all betrayed and said, “You did not,” when DUM-E had dropped the wrench on his foot to greet Steve upon his entrance. Steve’s a little smug about it. Sometimes, he gloats – okay, fine, he gloats about it at every chance he gets.

Giving a final stroke, he murmurs, “Gotta feed Tony, buddy,” and steps away. That’s when his foot catches on something and he trips, stumbles a few steps back and barely avoids landing on his butt, bathing is curry. Regaining his balance, he looks at the offending object and discovers a large chunk of Styrofoam. DUM-E gives a excited chirp, distracting Steve from the waste and he watches as the bot beeps and whirs all the way to its corner and drops its claw on top of a – A –

“Is that a cat tower?”

DUM-E beeps again, whirring in its position, apparently rubbing its claw all over the scratch pole and the little hammock. Steve squints and takes a step back, confused as he turns on his heels and sets to find his boyfriend.

“Tony?”

“Over here!” Comes a strained voice. Steve deposits the food tray on one of the worktables and heads towards its direction, coming in front of a Tesla.

“You’re not taking her down.” Steve groans horror stricken watching the man slide out from under the vehicle.

“Nah, just checking,” Tony grins, grabbing a dirty towel from the floor and wiping his hands. Steve narrows his eyes suspiciously because what can you check under a Tesla? And why is there a motor oil or grease across Tony’s cheek? He’s not feeling good about it –

“Geez, relax. Your baby is safe, big guy.” Tony flings the towel at Steve who dodges and makes a face. “Not my baby.” Gets buried behind a deep kiss and Steve wipes the dirt off Tony’s cheek with his thumb, smudging it across Tony’s ass with a light squeeze.

“I brought lunch.” He pushes Tony away from nibbling onto his ear and pulls him towards the workstation. “Also, when were you going to tell me that you have a cat?”

Tony blinks, plopping down on the stool, holding onto his lunch like he doesn’t know what Steve’s talking about. “I don’t have a cat.”

Steve raises an eyebrow staring him down. Then gives a pointed look to where DUM-E still whirring around the cat tower when Tony blinks dumbly. Cogs seem to turn in Tony’s brain as he follows Steve’s line of sight and he immediately ducks his head, focusing hard on spooning the curry into his mouth and moaning in appreciation, deliberately ignoring the topic.

Steve lets him inhale the food with fervour, until he tires out and his spoon swirls longer in the curry bowl and he brings it up again. “Tony?”

“It’s DUM-E’s.” Tony deadpans.

Steve gives him a flat look. “You bought a cat tower for DUM-E.”

Tony shrugs, “Look at him, he loves it.” He scoops more rice into his mouth. Steve yanks the tray away from him. “Hey!” Tony protests around full mouth.

“What?” Steve shrugs, “DUM-E also loves curry so I might just give this to him.” He makes to stand up, smiling sweetly at Tony.

His boyfriend makes a grabby hand but Steve doesn’t relent until Tony swallows and huffs, “Fine. I’m trying to buy DUM-E’s affection, happy?” Arms across his chest and a pout on his face, Tony presents a pretty convincing reason, except Steve knows him to not be that petty. Despite all the complaining, Steve knows for a fact that Tony actually finds DUM-E biasness towards Steve endearing. So, he goes for the one true ominous voice among them.

“JARVIS?”

Tony lets out a pathetic groan just as JARVIS answers, “Yes, Captain?”

“Are you gonna tell me or -,”

“Fine, geez.” Tony throws his hands up. “Barton wants to gift Bucky a cat. It’s supposed to be a surprise but there you go, Captain Nosy-pants.”

Steve blinks. “Oh.”

Tony grumbles something like, “Great. Now I really have to seal all the vents in here.”

Swallowing the glee, Steve clears his throat and pushes the tray back to Tony, caving in and grinning when the man accepts it haughtily and shovels his face with rice and curry with vengeance. “Tony, you put it right in the middle -,”

“It’s in the corner,” Tony huffs.

“Still visible.”

“Fuck off.”

Steve laughs. “What you’re going to do when they move it away? DUM-E looks attached.”

Tony blinks, eyes darting back to the corner where DUM-E has cozied up to the cat tower, claw resting on the top hammock, seemingly serene. Steve follows his gaze and for a moment, both of them regard the sight in silence. Until Tony sighs and says, “Well, shit,” and Steve bursts out laughing.

* * *

Alternatively

“Captain Rogers, there is a delivery for you.” JARVIS announces sounding a little off than he usually does. Steve squints at the ceiling from where he’s lying on his bed and trails of, “Okay…,”

Usually, the receptionist at the lobby or Happy will sign their deliveries for them, but if they’re calling in for Steve, then is must be something unusual. Steve hops onto his feet and reaches for the shield, but JARVIS pipes in, “I believe there won’t be a need for that, Captain.”

Frowning, Steve drops his hand. His instinct says to grab it anyway but he trusts JARVIS and, well, “If you say so, JARVIS.”

He makes it to the lobby and he sees Happy and Linda, the receptionist, talking to a guy in Fed-Ex uniform in a tight circle. There’s a huge box next to the delivery guy’s feet and Steve starts getting more suspicious the closer he gets.

“Are you sure -,”

“This is the order receipt, man. I’m just doing my job here.” The guy shrugs, eyes meeting Steve’s over Happy’s shoulder and widening in recognition. Steve nods at him. “Captain America!”

Steve winces inwardly, throwing a smile at the chap, “Delivery for Steve Rogers?”

The guy’s eyes go impossibly wider before his face starts turning tomato red as if he’s trying hard to hold in his laughter. Steve desperately seeks for Happy who shuffles and clears his throat. His ears are pink too and Linda is ducking behind a folder. Steve straightens up, ready for battle.

“It’s you!? Man, I knew your name was Steve something but hahah-,” the delivery guy bursts out laughing.

Happy graciously steps forward, “You were saying something about a job?” And the guy splutters, ducking his head in shame before holding out a tablet. “Right. Ahem, that was – I apologize for that. If you’d please sign here, I’ll be on my way.”

Already feeling as his whole skin was in fire, Steve accepts the tablet and signs. The guy thanks him and leaves, turning back before he hops into the van and Steve pretends he’s not dying of embarrassment as he waves him off.

“Sorry about that,” he apologizes to Linda who’s still covering her face with a folder. To Happy, he worries aloud, “I don’t know what this is,” because there was only one thing that he ordered online in the past weeks and he’s not expecting that to turn up like this. Happy pats him over the shoulder and asks if Steve needs help bringing the box up. Steve shakes his head, “I got this.”

It’s heavy, but Steve manages it. When the elevator opens at the communal floor, he sees Bucky and Clint hanging out on the couch with the video game console each and he gets a bad feeling in his gut. Something tells him to turn around and go to a different floor but Bucky’s eyes find his before the elevator closes and he perks up and Steve gives up.

He drags the box to where Bucky sits and plops on his other side. Clint lifts a hand up in greeting, buried in the game and Steve doesn’t bother returning the gesture, choosing on cutting open the box with the knife Bucky tossed out in his direction.

It’s not a complicated thing, one straight slid down the middle and the box pops open to reveal and bucket, more specifically, a bright pink bucket, “Huh.”

“What’s that?” Clint voice interrupts and Steve looks up to see that they’ve paused the game to watch him.

“I don’t know.” Steve scratches his head.

“Take it out.” Bucky grunts, aiming a kick at the box and Steve does, fitting both of his arms into the long box and prying out the bucket.

Clint is properly standing now, hovering over Steve and Steve feels the back of his neck itch. Something about this is not right.

Clint cackles at the obnoxious colour and crouches down to read the label. Steve tries to peek too but before he can even make out a word, Clint’s dropping on his back with a hand over his stomach and laughing his head off.

“What?” Steve balks.

Bucky snorts, “Good going, pal.” He pats Steve on his shoulder. Shaking him off, Steve lifts up the bucket and reads then immediately pales.

To make things worse, the elevator opens to expel Tony, still dressed from his board meeting but in the process of quickly making comfort out of the three piece suit and Steve colours bright red. Clint laughs even louder if that’s possible, Steve’s thorn between flinging the bucket out of the window and run into a hiding with it. Tony stops dead in his track at the sight squinting suspiciously.

“Steve?” He calls faintly, eyes darting distrustfully between Clint and Bucky. To his credit, Bucky’s still prone in his seat, albeit looking like he’s trying not to smile against everything.

Stupidly, Steve tucks the bucket behind him. Tony’s focus zeroes in on him. “What’s that?” He asks mildly, walking over.

“N-Nothing.”

On the floor, Clint is sitting up, wiping tears off of his eyes. “Ste- teve g- got-,” He wheezes but before finishes, Steve aims a kick at his back, sending him down again. Bucky loses it then, clamping his mouth shut in shock at his own laughter but neither Steve nor Tony are looking at him as they are at each other.

“What’s behind your back?”

Steve swallows. “Spine?”

Bucky snorts, Clint’s crying with laughter. Tony closes his eyes and breathes in, “God forbid -,” he begins but stops at Steve’s puppy eyes. But it’s Bucky who sells him out.

“He bought a bucket of lube to show his love for you.”

Clint crawls - still wheezing - to hug Bucky’s legs and laugh into them. Metal fingers pat his head. Steve watches in aghast, keeping his fist from landing hard on Bucky’s jaw and his eyes from meeting Tony. Shame curdles in his gut. He wants to empty bucket over those two shit heads.

He feels Tony’s hand prying his from the bucket. His cologne invades Steve’s space and he breathes in trying to find comfort in it. Tony clears his throat and Steve reluctantly looks up, face burning. His boyfriend looks like he’s a second away from bursting out laughing, but there’s something impish in his face as he leans down to whisper into Steve’s ears. His warm fingers squeezing promisingly and he says, “Can’t wait to use them.”


	9. Day 9: Hanging out with Friends

Tony makes his way up from the workshop. He’d just about lost his breath chasing DUM-E away from the cat tower. He’s reluctant but by the look of it, he’s going to have to ask JARVIS to take over DUM-E’s control if he’s going to take that cat tower away from the bot. There’s no more time left to try to wean him of, Clint is bringing in the cat today, actually, any second now.

He sees that everyone’s gathered in front of the TV. Steve’s curled with a book at one end of the sofa and Natasha’s sharpening her knife on the floor. Bucky’s hunched over the other end of the sofa, the hood of his hoodie up, signalling ‘bad day’ in hoodie language which everyone is proficient in these days. Thor is sprawled on the floor, balancing a large bowl of popcorn on his stomach, head on Natasha’s lap, watching Jersey Shore. Tony snorts at it, calling attention to himself. He notices Clint and Sam missing, probably out doing you-know-what.

“You’re developing a questionable taste, Thor.” He calls, but the Norse God tosses a bright grin and updates, “Snooki is pregnant!” As if Tony cares.

Shaking his head, Tony makes his way to Steve’s end of the sofa, pries apart his long legs and makes home in Steve’s V, sliding down so his head’s settled on Steve’s stomach, allowing his boyfriend to continue reading, while his toes poke at the outside of Bucky’s thigh; Steve’s buried beneath. Steve’s fingers reflexively sink into his hair, brushing them back and massaging his scalp. Tony sighs and sinks into the sensation, one hand rubbing the outside of Steve’s thigh lazily, the other Natasha’s ear as she goes on about minding her own business.

The phone in his pocket vibrates. Tony forgoes checking on it, hoping it’s what he thinks it is; a heads up. Unmistakeably, give or take ten minutes later, the elevator door opens and Clint steps out, grinning ear to ear as he charges head first to where Bucky his, butting his head against his stomach. Bucky indulges him with a grunt, pushing him away with a palm to his face, pretending to watch Jersey Shore as Tony watches them in amusement. He kicks Clint away for blocking his view but his hood comes off his head too, it’s a peculiar thing; Tony couldn’t and doesn’t even want to attempt understanding their relationship.

The elevator door opens again, expelling Sam who with all the grandeur in the world, yells, “Surprise!” With a cat carrier in his one hand another thrown outward.

Everyone stares.

Steve lowers his book, which Tony takes, wedging a finger to mark the page and they straighten up. Clint looks ashen, but recovers fast.

“Aww, man. I haven’t even started on my speech!”

If Sam could colour, Tony thinks this is the moment he does. Hastily, and quite stupidly, he attempts to hide the cat carrier behind him. Clint lets out a pained groan. Bucky’s alert, Thor’s even sat up, Snooki all forgotten.

“What speech?” Thor asks, blinking widely.

“My cat speech of -,”Clit blabs and abruptly smacks a hand to his mouth. Tony rolls his head and drops back into Steve, giving up. Steve clears his throat as if to say something but Tony tips his head up and puts a finger to his lips, “N’uh.” He looks as exasperated as Tony feels.

It’s Natasha who speaks next. “Just tell him,” all the while the quiet clinks of her knives never letting up. As if on cue, a soft ‘mrow’ comes from Sam’s direction and all eyes go back to him again. Clint, in his ultimate stupidity, chooses right then to blurt out, “Igotyouacat.”

Behind him, Steve makes a pained noise. Tony has to admit, he feels it. Natasha’s knives stop clinking and she turns to Clint with one pointing up. Thor, like a big puppy, perks up, “Is that a Flerken?”

“No, not fler - I don’t even know what that is. Aww hell, I’ve ruined this haven’t I?” Clint whines into his hands, hiding his face as he slumps. And for a minute, it feels like it is, until Bucky gets up, walks past Clint, stares Sam down until he gives the cat carrier and he settles on the floor in front of the elevator with it, hands working on opening the carrier.

Everyone watches silently as he lets out a tiny white kitten that immediately claws at his clothed knees, trying to climb onto his lap. “You got me a cat.” He turns to Clint.

All heads turn to the archer who blinks and stutters, “Er, ye- yeah, I did,” then seems to have found his feet to walk towards where Bucky and his new mammal friend are while Sam slithers away from the scene, sighing in relief as he drops on the floor next to Natasha.

They witness Bucky kiss Clint and collectively turn away with myriad disgusted sounds.

Later, when they’ve all settled down, their new member curled snuggly inside Bucky’s hood – which he’s wearing front side back – Tony takes Steve’s hand in his and tells the couple, “Steve and I got you a cat tower.” As if they’ve planned this the entire time. Steve stiffens and Tony gives the hand in his a squeeze. “Although currently, it’s DUM-E’s comfort place, so we’ll give it to you in like a day or two.”

Much later, when he slinks his way back to the workshop, Steve follows behind and crowds him up the wall, “You said Steve and I,” he murmurs hotly into Tony’s neck.

“I always say Steve and I, honey,” Tony squirms. “Unlike I and Steve or myself and Steve, it’s proper grammar.”

Steve groans and chuckles at the same time, wedging a leg in between Tony’s, “That’s not what I meant.” He kisses up Tony’s neck. “You said Steve and I like we’re a presenting front. Like – Like -,” He trails off, tipping Tony’s chin up and slotting their mouths together.

“I like how it sounds.” He exhales when they part, “Like we’re a couple.”

“Aren’t we already a couple?” Tony pecks Steve’s nose, breathing close and hot, teasing.

Steve groans, dropping his head onto Tony’s shoulder, “It’s not that, it just – I - ,” he tries and Tony decides to go easy on him.

“Like we’re official?” He asks softly, lips brushing over Steve’s brow line.

A shudder wrecks through Steve’s body, and he looks up, pupils blown wide and dark, sinfully gorgeous. “Yeah,” he breathes, “Yeah, like we’re official, like we’re mar -,”

Tony interrupts him with a kiss, long and deep and distracting, sighing in relief when Steve stops talking and starts moving.


	10. Day 10: Animal Ears

“She hates me.” Clint moans into his morning coffee, the entire pot of it. Steve watches the back of his head, the defeated slump of his shoulders and put his paper aside. “She hates me too.” He confides, frowning at his unfinished toast and half a sausage left. 

Clint lets out a strangled sob and pulls his head out. “I don’t get it. I got her!” His indignation is apparent and Steve nods along.

Alpine strikes, unapologetically venomous at everyone who is not Bucky. And Tony. It’s disconcerting how the kitten warmed up to each of their other halves but not them.

“You know what Bucky said?” Clint asks, swallowing a mouthful of coffee.

“What?”

“He said it’s because I look distrustful.” Steve snorts, Clint glares, “But you don’t look distrustful, you’re Captain America and she still hates you.”

“Tony says it’s because I’m blonde and pretty and she thinks I’m a competition.” Steve sighs, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed.

Clint squints. “But Thor’s blonde.” He states. “She purrs around him. **_Purrs_** ,” He emphasizes with a glower.

Steve, shrugs, acknowledging the point. The muffled scuffle around the corner alerts him to Tony, scuffling as he tried to keep his eyes open on his feet. Steve accepts the kiss to his cheek and watches as Tony pops in the half sausage into his mouth, pulling a chair out next to Steve. He swallows before he addresses Clint. “You’re not pretty either, so it must be something else.”

Clint the banana peel at his head, which Steve intercepts and makes a perfect goal into the rubbish bin. Tony beams, smug and wide awake, “Thank you, love,” he kisses Steve on his temple. “By the way, I have an idea,” he murmurs, but is abruptly interrupted by the JARVIS alerting them to an emergency.

They suit up, Loki hits the town with intention to practice throwing spells at everyone who offends him and they return to tower with Steve and Tony sporting wolf ears each.

Steve feels mad. He is, mad, but Tony can’t stop laughing at them and in a way it’s funny, even if he really just wants to grab those ears and pull them off of his head except they’re very painful.

Thor has just zapped himself away promising to bring Loki back and meanwhile, Natasha can’t stop feeling up Tony’s ear. She tried to reach for Steve’s white ones but he’d glared her away so now she’s playing with Tony’s grey ones while Clint snaps multiple photos of them posing with it; with Tony’s full consent. After a full medical check-up of course.

It’s almost adorable how Tony’s enjoying it, trying to flex his new ears in different directions and giggling with each turn. Almost, because Steve cannot see how he enjoys this. He has enhanced hearing post-serum but this is _painful._

Everything is amplified. Tony’s giggles are dizzyingly piercing and Steve wants to throw the remote at Clint’s head for cackling like a headless witch.

But Tony’s infectious joy is placating. Even Bruce is laughing. He’s seriously considering flinging the remote at Clint’s head when the elevator opens and Bucky steps out, wearing his hoodie front-side back and Alpine peeking out from the hood. He stops dead on his track few after a few steps upon meeting Steve’s eyes, his own almost bugging out in surprise. Then Steve sees his focus immediately lands on Clint before he takes in the rest of the team before he starts closing in with his poker face back in place.

“Is this a new couple thing?” He asks, flicking Steve’s ear and Steve feels them twitch away, scowling and batting his hand away. Natasha reaches for his ears again and he feels them flattening over his head as he growls, “Don’t.” She backs away, Bucky turns to Clint and asks, “Where are ours? I want cat ears, black.”

“Oh! Thor’s getting Loki back so we can ask him though I don’t know about specific requests.” Clint suggests excitedly and this time, Steve chucks the remote at his face. Bucky intercepts it though, flinging it back at Steve. “You got cursed?”

Steve scowls some more, his ears twitching again but straightens up when Alpine hops out of Bucky’s hoodie onto Steve’s shoulder and starts sniffing at his ears after her tiny sharp claws break his skin as she gathers her balance. He stays still, the noises dying down and he feels the weight shifting next to him on the couch but he daren’t move.

He can feel Alpine’s quiet breath up his ear and more peculiarly, he can feel the wet warmth of it. He tries hard not to flinch but his ears only listen to him as much as Tony does; they perk up and try to flick her away, his skin crawling up his nape aching for him to shake his head and shoulder off, pushing her away and suddenly, there’s a hand creeping up his nape, Tony’s soft hush slamming like pure relief and Steve shudders into his touch.

“Think she likes it,” Tony whispers, not as close as Alpine is perched on his shoulder but Steve hears it as loud as the day. He frowns and Tony starts pressing the tip of fingers soothingly over his scalp. He hears Clint giggle, sees Bucky moving to perch on the armrest of the sofa over Steve’s other side and Natasha observing. He squints at her because he knows how she is and he can hear the cogs and wheels turning inside her head, staging a plan to touch Steve’s ears. She bats her lashes innocently and Steve starts to glare when he feels a long lick from the base of his ear to the tip of it, a thin long stripe, prickly, making him freeze instantly.

Tony giggles nearby. “She’s really loving it,” his fingers reaching to scratch the back of Steve’s other ear and Steve shudders again, ears twitching again to flick his finger away. Tony withdraws with a kiss to his nape but Alpine decides to stay.

Clint’s get several shots of Alpine snuggling up to Steve, _a miraculous occurrence, once in a blue moon_ , he claimed and Steve has to agree because one every other day, Alpine hates him. Steve lets him click away and more willingly lets Alpine purr her way from one shoulder and another, rubbing up his wolf ears. One time, she hops onto Steve’s lap to sniff on Tony’s ears but she seems more taken with Steve’s which Steve is forever going to gloat; the one time he out scores Tony as Alpine’s favourite.

He’d finally mollified and started entertaining Alpine, flicking his ears this way and that when the boom of thunder echoes, hurting his ears and Thor appears dragging Loki along with him. Steve puts Alpine on Clint’s lap when he starts to open his mouth after Loki lazily reversed his spell, and her scratches diverts his attention long enough for Thor to escort his brother back.

His ears feel normal but colder without Alpine breathing up them, and if that’s how Steve starts demanding his ears played with by his boyfriend, he calls bullshit and Tony has no say in this.


End file.
